Kobo leaves first, trudging back to his corner, his gloves hanging low, chest heaving with ragged breaths. His face is twisted, not in fear this time, but in raw simmering anger.
Yet for a man who's fought only one round, he already looks spent. Sweat drips from his chin, his shoulders sag, and his legs wobble as if he's dragged through deep water.
From the stands, the once rhythmic chant of the Cruel King's Army has broken apart into scattered voices. The crowd no longer roars in unison. It jeers in pieces, cutting through him like glass.
"Hey, Maruyama! That's what you got after having four knockouts?!"
"Looks like a rookie who just got lost in the wrong ring!"
"Ten-rounder? He won't last three!"
"It's too soon for you. Your gym made a mistake pushing you into a stage like this."
Every shout hits him harder than Ryohei's punches. He doesn't dare look up, but he feels their eyes; mocking, gleeful, merciless.
